The Wild Wild West
by GeneFlowers
Summary: Javert/Valjean Wild West AU (so I've changed Valjean name slightly, sorry). Jonny Valjohn is caught for stealing bread and sent to a convict gang, Javert ends up as Sheriff in the town nearest to Valjohn, in charge of the convicts. Humiliation and UST ensues. (Sorry, awful summary). First timer here (of Valvert and M(ish) fic), so be kind!


**A/N: This was inspired by this prompt from the kinkmeme on livejournal: . ?thread=1829523#t1829523. (I tried posting it up there and it hasn't seemed to work, so I'll link this to it and see if it fares better). Javert/Valjean pairing, my first time writing them, and anything vaguely M-rated, so please be kind to me!**

**Disclaimer: Les Miserables belongs to Victor Hugo. I am not Victor Hugo. I'm still alive, for one thing.**

Notorious cowboy Jonny Valjohn (known as Jon John to fellow criminals and the law alike) had finally escaped the backbreaking punishment of laying the new cross-continent American railroad and had been on the run since just before sunset one afternoon prior. He had been working on loosening his chains against the sharp metal of the rail tracks for several days, a job which none but the strongest man could manage. Then when the foreman (a rough-hewn creature by the name of Skelton) had reached the other end of the line and was turned away from him, Jonny took his chance. He knew he wouldn't have had nearly as much luck had the much hated and feared Sheriff Javert been on duty, but luckily for him, the Sheriff had had more pressing matters on his hand that day than babysitting a bunch of sweaty convicts.

His luck was bound to run out soon though. He hadn't slept that night, wanting to cover as much distance as possible under the cover of darkness and he judged he'd travelled about 30 miles, although in the vastness of the plains it was hard to judge 3 miles from 3000. It still wasn't enough; it would never be enough. He knew he needed to rest soon. He also knew that Sheriff Jav would be on his tail and would catch him or die trying. Sheriff Jav was a stickler to the law; every word he took as gospel, never to be questioned or transgressed, and those who did would pay. Besides this, the Sheriff had born a grudge against Jonny ever since he had outwitted the officer of the law in court.

Javert had been called as a witness, having allegedly seen Jon John break into the grocery in his hometown, threatening the shop girl with a gun and then proceeding to pillage the tills for his own greed. He himself had noticed a commotion out the window from where he was sitting in his office and had run out immediately to arrest the culprit.

In his defence, Jonny had claimed that the gun was merely a novel cigarette lighter (to which Javert bitterly enquired _where _and _through what means_ he had acquired such an object, a matter that the judge ignored, much to Javert's disgruntlement). He also proved that he had _not_, as claimed by Jav, stolen any money (a fact evidenced because all the money in the till had been accounted for) and had merely attempted to steal a loaf of bread to feed his sister and her starving family. They were homesteaders only last year arrived from the East, Jonny said, and the winter had not been kind to them. He also added (very insolently, in Javert's mind) that if Javert had witnessed the entire debacle, than why had he not noticed that the cowboy had gone nowhere near the tills, but headed straight for the baked goods, and also, if he had seen the entire thing, why had he not stepped in sooner to apprehend the criminal? Jonny was reprimanded for contempt of the court, but his logic was taken on board by the jury and Javert's superiors alike, resulting in a shortened sentence for Valjohn (19 years instead of 25) and something of a demotion for Sheriff Javert. Although he remained a sheriff, he was posted to a little town in the middle of the plains constructed solely for the purpose of building the new railway. Javert's duties included taking care of the crime in the town, of course, but also overseeing and occasionally patrolling the gang of foreigners and convicts who were building the railway. The gang that Jonny Valjohn, now dubbed prisoner 24601, had been assigned to.

In fact, Sheriff Javert had not lied about what he had seen on the night of Valjohn's arrest. For all his faults, Javert was not a liar. In fact, he had a reputation for being brutally, almost unnecessarily honest. Valjohn had been foolish, breaking into a shop right next to the police station with a great deal of noise and fuss, and Javert had heard his shouting through the open window of the police station (it had been a hot night). He had hurried out, not realising he was witnessing the end of the crime. Valjohn _had _been bent down behind the counter; but not to steal anything. The girl in charge of the shop at the time (she was only a girl, 16 or 17 at most, and Valjohn had felt guilty even at the time of perpetrating the robbery) had tripped over herself in fright at his entrance and hit her head on the wall; Jonny had been bending down to check if she was alright. Ironically enough, his kindness had been his downfall: had he left a moment earlier, the Sheriff may never have caught him.

Having discovered that Valjohn was in the gang of convicts under his command, Sheriff Javert resolved to make the most of his exile to the back of beyond. He took every opportunity, or at least it seemed so to Valjohn, to make 24601's life hell. From the first time he had seen him in that place, sitting back straight, high on his horse, spurs dug into the beasts side, Stetson high on his head, looking straight ahead as if he could not even see the criminals below him, Valjohn knew that he was in trouble. His sheriff's badge may have been in the shape of a star, but the midday sun gleaming on the highly polished metal gave more of the look of a sharpened knife; no star shone as sharp as this. This was a man, every man there saw when the Sheriff arrived, who took pride in his office. Pride which Valjohn had tarnished. Valjohn knew he could expect worse than the beatings, overwork and lewd comments and jeers they received as punishment from the other guards.

A few months after Javert's arrival, an order was issued from the police headquarters in New York to all the new stations in the Wild West. Criminality and lawlessness abounded, they said, and criminals needed to be made an example of. People needed to be deterred from committing the same crimes. Show them what would happen if they did.

Javert seized his opportunity to humiliate the man who had humiliated him. Shortly after receiving the order, he had sent for prisoner 24601 to be sent to his office at the police station. The officer escorted 24601 into the office and left, but Javert did not look up from his paperwork, enjoying making the convict squirm. Finishing the sentence he was writing, and deliberately making his signature, he stood up, and only then, at his full height, did he deign to look up into Valjohn's eyes. The man visibly gulped.

Javert smirked. "Do you know why I have sent for you, 24601?"

"No, sir." Valjohn answered in hard and emotionless voice. He would not be affected by this wolf of a man.

"I have received a letter, from the authorities. Criminals need to be made an example of, they say. I quite agree. So we are going to make an example of you." His face was expressionless, his voice without inflection; after all, he was only doing his duty; he wasn't supposed to enjoy this.

Valjohn nodded.

Sheriff Javert emerged from behind his desk and picked up Valjohn's chain. "Come on then, 24601," he said.

There was something fascinating about having this ridiculously strong man in chains at his feet, completely at his mercy; something almost...attractive, thought Javert. He tamped down on these thoughts; the bestial, uncontrolled part of him that was not concerned with duty and the law, the part of him he believed he had inherited from his convict father. But something still niggled at him throughout the day as he dragged 24601 around his town, something raw and vulgar.

That day was humiliating, one could say shaming, for Jonny Valjohn. Ordinary people, people much like his sister and his neighbours back home, glanced at him for a moment then looked away, or worse, glared at him in horror and disgust.

Javert was satisfied. He had had his revenge on this criminal, and done his duty to the law at the same time; with any luck, he had also prevented any of the townspeople from becoming future criminals. However, that part of his mind which he tried to smother could not be extinguished completely. The day had been long and hot, and he was exhausted as he led 24601 back into his office. He was about to call the officer on duty to escort him back to the convicts' camp, but at that moment he caught sight of his brown leather boots, dusty from the day, and they gave him an idea.

"24601," his voice was deeper than usual; huskier. Valjohn looked up sharply. Annoyed with himself, Javert cleared his throat and started again. "I think that day went rather well, don't you think, 24601?" His tone was almost pleasant.

Valjohn looked him straight in the eyes and did not answer.

"Well? I asked you a question, 2-"

Valjohn snarled at him. Javert recoiled slightly internally, but made no outwards appearance of his shock. Prisoners were usually no less than deferential around him; some of them practically licked his boots, as if that would shorten their sentence. Javert was an upstanding officer of the law and not someone to be swayed by the honeyed words or embellished gestures of a convict. In fact, he almost admired 24601 for holding his ground, although of course he'd never admit that.

"Disobedience and outright disrespect of the law, 24601. You would think today may have taught you a lesson, but it appears more punishment is required." Under the surface Javert is boiling, but his calm tone makes him all the more sinister and imposing to Jonny Valjohn.

"Hmm, my boots seem to have become very dirty today," he mused in a slightly annoyed tone, and Valjohn was thrown at the unrelated subject. "I shall have to clean them later."

Then he seemed to come to a decision within himself; he snapped back up straight from the more relaxed posture he had been holding for the past minute or so, and ordered Valjohn in a tight tone "On your knees."

Credit where credit was due, 24601 knew when he was beaten. He knelt down onto the floor (somewhat awkwardly, due to his bound wrists), but still glared up at Javert.

"Now lick my boots."

"As you say, sir," Valjohn uttered, in a voice that was brittle with hatred. He broke eye contact then, looking down at Javert's dusty boots. He tilted forward, slowly, almost...deliberately? Then his long, wet tongue emerged from the depths of his mouth and he slowly ran his tongue from the toe of the sheriff's boots to the back.

Javert groaned with frustration.

"Faster, godammit, 24601."

With a sly grin which Javert did not see, Valjohn began lapping at the boots in a fervour, the slap of his tongue against the supple leather making grotesque slurping and licking sounds that went straight to Javert's groin. Staring straight ahead, and trying to ignore the way in which he was straining against his chaps, Javert immediately regretted telling his prisoner to hurry up about it.

Valjohn had moved to the other boot now. There was a particularly stubborn bit of dirt just above where the leather joined the sole, and he bit down on it, scraping with his teeth to try and get it off. Javert bit back a groan. His legs had turned to jelly and he had to lean back against his desk to support himself. If 24601 thought to look up now, he thought to himself, he could easily overpower him, handcuffed though he was. He wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight...he might even welcome it, he thought, gazing at the way Valjohn's powerful muscles undulated beneath the black and white stripes of his convict's uniform as he moved back and forth, back and forth, lapping at Javert's boots as though he were a man dying of thirst and they were pure, sparkling water. Javert couldn't hold back his moan this time, the dismay he should have felt at this loss of control washed away in a tidal wave of pure pleasure, and Valjohn looked up, the boots clean and he confused.

On seeing the bulge in Javert's chaps, Valjohn was no longer mystified, but he was somewhat uncomfortable. Despite having been part of a chain gang for a number of months, spending all of his waking hours in the company of coarse and vulgar men, he was not so crude himself. Oh, he joined in with their banter, but he ignored the noises in the night of men with other men, isolated, with no other means of pleasure, and the one time someone had advanced on him, his superhuman strength had soon corrected their assumption. So why did he feel his cock twitch when he looked at the Sheriff, utterly undone, above him?

In the meanwhile, Javert had pulled himself back together, his back straight and his shoulders tense, when he noticed Valjohn had stopped. However, there was one thing he couldn't hide, one thing that didn't belong on a sheriff with a criminal at his feet; the huge erection clearly visible underneath the coarse fabric of his chaps. And Valjohn was clearly looking...no, _staring_ at it. Javert reddened.

"Alright, get up, 24601," he said gruffly, hoping he didn't look as warm as he felt...although it hardly mattered now. As Valjohn complied with his request, Javert suddenly felt guilty. Not because of the humiliation and embarrassment his convict must have suffered, nor even, really, the way he'd reacted to the bootlicking. No, it was not right that he had forced the prisoner to do this, not part of his duty, part of the law. He should have dealt with this insubordination through the proper system, not issued 24601 with his own brand of justice; that way vigilante justice lay. A broken law for a broken law; that was not the way Sheriff Javert worked. Oh, he knew some of the other police and guards would occasionally carry out their own punishment on a criminal; a backhand here, a caning there; but never Javert. Not until today, and that damned 24601. Looking at his face, he realised that the convict would not make eye contact with him. Before, he had stared Javert straight in the face, gaze defiant where other men would have been meek, but now, it seemed, he could not look his master in the eye.

"24601."

Valjohn made a noise in his throat that might have been an assent, but could have been a myriad of other things. Javert growled in frustration.

"Look at me, 24601."

Valjohn reluctantly turned his gaze on the Sheriff's face, eyes constantly flickering away from his eyes to the rest of his features. He had unsettled the man, he could tell. But instead of feeling satisfaction at finally having shaken the immovable mountain before him, he felt only a sick guilt in his stomach.

"I'm sorry, 24601."

That got his attention. Valjohn's eyes, which had been flickering somewhere between his mouth and nose, fixed suddenly on his tormentor's grey-blue ones, searching for something in their depths. Then he turned away with a derisive snort.

"What for? I am your prisoner, to do what you like with." His intonation was bitter.

Javert shook his head. "No, I am your guardian, to do with what the law permits. There is nothing in the law that permits or condones," he gulped, unable to give voice to what had just taken place, "that."

Valjohn rolled his eyes. "Well, what of it? You obviously enjoyed it." His eyes flicked involuntarily to the swelling still visible in Javert's chaps, and then quickly back up into the Sheriff's eyes.

That angered Javert. "My _job _is to mete out just punishment to you and your kind. I am _not _here to enjoy myself." He banged his fist on the desk to emphasise his point. Valjohn raised his eyebrows. "What, do you think I am like the other guards, those who punish for mere pleasure, give out penalties that aren't deserved, turn the criminal into the victim. No, 24601, I am Sheriff Javert, and I am nothing if I am not fair." He didn't know why it felt so important to make the convict understand him, but somehow it did.

Valjohn was taken aback. "Alright, Sheriff, I get it. I apologise."

Javert shook his head before moving behind his desk to call a subordinate.

"Perkins, escort 24601 back to the prisoner's camp, will you?" he said tiredly.

"Yes, sir." The young pipsqueak stood at attention for a moment before realising what he had been called to do and dragging Valjohn from the room, but not before Valjohn had glanced back at the Sheriff. He was turned away from the door, from him, his head in his hands.

When Javert heard the door click shut, he sighed in relief, sliding a hand down into his chaps to palm himself roughly. Although his erection had wilted a bit in the past few minutes, the memory of Valjohn licking his boots soon had it standing to attention again and a minute later, he came all over his hand. Then, feeling disgusted with himself, Javert wiped himself off as best as he could, stood up, and left the station early, much to the surprise of his colleagues. Then he went home to bed, and wept.


End file.
